


Mudan

by Keitorin



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anal Sex, Anonymity, Biting, Blindfolds, Bondage, Cock Rings, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Gratuitous Smut, Hand Jobs, Kidnapping, M/M, Non Consensual, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Silence, Vulnerability, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 13:02:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keitorin/pseuds/Keitorin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heroes did not get kidnapped, stripped and, and <i>bad touched</i>!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mudan

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this quite a bit ago and never ended up posting this anywhere because, I don't know, it's ???/America and TomatoGraffiti didn't like who I said the mystery character was in my head. XD I tried to adapt it to someone else later but it didn't work. 
> 
> My fantasies about consent have changed a bit since I wrote this too. Heed the warnings - American's captor doesn't use violence and American ends up enjoying himself, but he didn't consent.
> 
> Feel free to imagine ??? as whoever you want. Hopefully I fixed all the tenses/formatting.

Hands tickled at his thighs, and he felt them twitch in reaction. The hands rubbed circles around them, massaging, but then nails scratched down them, creating an interesting sensation.

He woke up a little bit more. He felt like someone had tied weights to his arms and legs and threw him into the ocean, and he was slowly sinking in the water but struggling to detach himself from them one by one.

The hands slowly made their way up his thighs until they touched his buttocks. One hand drifted to his balls; the other soothingly continued to pet a thigh. The hand on his balls was soft and warm, but now they were rolling them and the sensation woke him up even more.

_Someone was touching his balls._

He struggled until only one weight held him down. Things slowly started to register. His mind felt foggy and slow, but the sensations on his body were coming sharply into focus.

He was laying on a flat surface, probably a bed. There was some sort of soft, smooth sheets under him. His hands were not at his sides, but stretched behind him and bound to the bed. Whatever it was was soft, so it wasn’t handcuffs. Or at least not the standard ones.

His legs were spread and bound as well. Disconcertingly, he was naked.

That's when the last weight dropped and his eyes snapped open. He thought he was blind for a moment, until he felt the outline of a blindfold around his head.

He felt very vulnerable. He was pissed.

"What the fuck?!" He yelled, or tried to, but his voice came out low and rough. He yanked fiercely against the binds with his arms, but surprisingly, nothing happened, no cracking sound. He’d always taken pride in his strength, because that's what heroes were known for.

The hands moved away from his privates, thankfully, and America tried to bring his legs together.

"What the hell is going on, who's there?!" This time his voice worked, but he still received no response.

There was silence for a few minutes and he wondered if he was alone, but that was debunked when he felt a presence settle onto the bed between his legs. He scowled and jerked against the binds some more.

"Look, if you let me go, I promise not to tell anyone... I haven't seen you, so you can still get away!"

He jerked in surprise when a hand suddenly landed on his chest. It started at his sternum and inched down, but veered off to dance across a nipple. America jerked again and bit his lip.

"Wh-whoever you are, I _promise_ I won't tell, but you have to let me go." Never mind that he was contradicting his statement that he hadn't seen the person's face, so he couldn't give a description anyway.

Another hand inched along to his other nipple, just gently caressing it. America stubbornly held still and looked straight up at what he presumed was a ceiling.

He felt his nipples harden. That was when both are suddenly pinched at the same time, and he couldn’t help but arch his back.

"Oh!" He gasped before biting his lips again, ashamed.

The hands went on to explore the rest of his body, and even though Alfred stubbornly kept quiet and blank-faced, his captor still managed to find all his good spots and bring out a shiver in him.

Finally, the hands retreated and though it was too optimistic, he hoped they wouldn’t be back.

"I, I could give you money! Money can buy you anything. A, a car, hamburgers, games, tickets, clo- AH!" He choked on his words as the hands came back; only this time they had a specific goal. His cock.

At first it was just soft touches, as if getting the lay of the land. But then they became more purposeful and started stroking.

America panicked when he felt himself responding.

"Look, you really don't want to do this! I, I mean I'm sure there's plenty of people out there who'd love to do this with you! Why, why _me_?" America was not pleading, no he was not. He was calmly...he was _really_ calmly questioning--

"Nn!" The hands had disappeared in the middle of his questioning, but they were soon back with a liquid on them, making his cock wet as well as they resumed stroking.

America cursed his body for reacting without his permission. He had to admit that it felt good, despite his mind raging against everything that was happening. Heroes did not get kidnapped, stripped and, and _bad_ _touched_!

Trying to keep his mind off the warm, slick hands stroking his cock, he desperately tried to recall where he'd gone that day.

Around lunch, he had gone to Canada's. He'd made him cook him pancakes and then he'd dragged him out to see a new movie. After that, he'd headed over ---

"Shit!" He cursed as one hand squeezed his balls. It was just his luck that he was sensitive and the captor had discovered it. He jerked on the binding some more even though they wouldn't budge.

A thumb swirled around the head of his cock, and he felt pre-come leak out and down his cock.

"N...nn!" A moan managed to escape around his bitten lip. He felt blood well up from where he'd bitten too hard.

He thanked God when the hands disappeared, but then he was cursing him when he felt a cool, soft cloth being tied tightly around the base of his cock.

"H-hey!" He complained - not because he wanted to come, not at all, but because that was just _rude_.

He felt the captor shift and lean over him again, but was still surprised when a warm, wet and soft tongue suddenly licked at his lips, swiping away the blood that had welled up there.

America jerked his head to the side in disgust. To him, kissing wasn't something you did with just anyone, so having his kidnapper going anywhere near there was just wrong. Besides, it could be some ugly old guy.

Except from what America could tell, they couldn't be that old. The hands were small and smooth, uncalloused. The tongue had tasted faintly of sweetness and something flowery.

He didn't have to worry about them trying to kiss him, because they moved down to his neck, which they peppered with kisses, then nips, and then they were sucking at his pulse point and America was unwittingly seeing stars because hello, that felt really, really...

"Ahn!" He gasped, flexing his fists and wiggling as he tries to distract himself from the sensation that tried to drag him in.

After what seemed like forever the lips pulled away with a popping noise and America scowls at the thought of a hickey.

The tongue darted out and licked the end of his ear, which for some reason made him flush. Then teeth delicately nipped at it, and he'd had no idea he was sensitive _there_.

Thankfully they moved on soon. Or not so thankfully. In combination, the tongue and teeth took turns making a path down his chest, stopping at his nipple. America tensed in (not anticipation, not at all) fear.

The tongue slowly glided across it, once twice, and then the teeth came out to play as they lightly nibbled on it, putting more and more pressure into each bite and before America knew it, he was arching and letting out panting gasps.

"Oh, ohhh..."

Before he could mentally smack himself into some semblance of control, the other nipple was given the same treatment and all he could do was try to breathe and squeeze his eyes shut tight, saying 'no no no' in his head as if that would help.

The lips continued on their way, and America does his best to space out, but each time they find a sensitive spot it was pointless. It was like his mouth had a mind of it's own. If he didn't make noise, he felt he'd go mad with sensation and no way to express it.

The makeshift cockring was doing its job rather well. Without it, he wondered if he could come sooner and get it over with. With it, he was afraid it was going to be prolonged and he'd be mentally scarred for life. Not that it couldn't be much worse. He was rather surprised that his captor hadn’t just raped him already. It was rather odd that he was being so ‘tame’ with what he _could_ be doing.

...He'd gone to England's to sign some papers or something. France had shown up and had been delighted to see America though. England had not been happy, and the two had digressed into a verbal schoolboy fight. America had snuck out and gone...

A bite to his thigh brought him back to the present.

"Fuck!" He opened his mouth to continue cursing out his captor for making him so helpless ( _for making him enjoy it_ ), but was completely and utterly silenced as a warm, wet heat surrounded his cock.

"Ohhh shit..." He groaned when he finally got his voice back. The captor chuckled, sending vibrations through his cock that distracted him from the fact that it is the first noise that came out of his mouth.

One hand fisted around his cock where the ribbon was tied. They sucked on it for a moment before swirling their tongue around the head, and America found his hips raising off the bed without his control, trying to get more but not having much luck. Then the lips wandered to his balls, making him keen low in his throat.

He found himself wanting to come really, really bad and not caring about the circumstances.

"God!" He cursed and wanted to bite his lips again.

Then the lips were gone, and he gave in and bit his own.

He lay there panting in the silence, wondering why his captor had stopped and when he was going to hell. Because he wanted more, but there was no way he was going to beg for it!

He was feeling very warm, jittery and anxious, not to mention so aroused he felt like he could come even with the ribbon...

He'd slipped off to see what Japan was up to, but it turned out that Japan was hanging out with Germany and Italy, so he'd ended up spending some time with them all. Japan had apologized like five times for not having been at home to greet him, and America had said...

The hands were back. The warmth of them seeped into his thighs as they massaged them again, dragging lightly up until...

"Whoah, what the fuck are you doing! That place is off limits!"

America was distracted, but not enough to miss the chuckle this time. Unfortunately, it was hard to pick out a voice from just that.

"I'm not kidding!" America tugged sharply on his binds, and tried to scoot his body away.

His captor was having none of it though. Suddenly his cock was enveloped again and he forgot about trying to get away. He was floating in Deep Space Nine when teeth scraped ever so slightly against his cock.

"Ohmygod, shit, _fuck_!" He yelled out, bucking. One hand held his hips down, but the other snaked back in between the legs and circled the hole there.

Before America knew  it, he had a finger up his ass. Not that he hadn't before, but he'd always known whose it was, before. This was something entirely different.

Only it was just mental. Physically it was the same. It had been a while since he'd done this with anyone, but he would do it himself sometimes. He wasn’t completely unprepared.

It was strange at first as always, and felt like his body was rejecting it. But it became easier to ignore that as the lube did its job and his body stretched to accommodate the one, then two fingers. Then he forgot about it completely as they hit his prostate and he whined low in his throat.

They kept hitting it even as a third finger was added, and for what felt like several minutes America feels like he is going through slow torture. He was this close to begging for something, anything, when they were removed.

His cock felt too big, pulsing and leaking, and now that he’d had a taste he wanted more.

"Pl...please." He choked out. After a few seconds, a hand stroked along his thigh, almost petting.

"God, please do something!" He finally begged, eyes squeezed tightly closed, biting his lip and squirming, trying to stimulate himself somehow.

The other hand reached up and removed his lip from between his teeth.

When America unconsciously darted out his tongue to lick his lips, it brushed against the finger. He heard a small gasp and felt a little smug that he was affecting his captor as well.

He was forced to wait again as his captor left his side. He could hear small sounds of things being moved around, but that was it.

Finally, a hand landed on his leg and the other...

The other pressed something against his hole and slowly started inserting it. America tensed up and the progress stopped.

A toy? It had to be. It felt smooth and not quite real enough to be a cock.

Truthfully, America liked toys, but would likely never admit it. Probably why in all his relationships, he'd never mentioned them as long as his partner hadn't.

It felt even more unfair that his captor was using one on him now, almost like his mind was being read. It was a disturbing feeling.

He forced himself to relax. At this rate he would get blue balls. He needed to come so he could finally get this blindfold off and see who his captor was.

Which reminds him. _After spending some time with the three, he had then run into Russia, who looked far too pleased about something. When asked, he had just swung his pipe around and said something about how he'd just 'dropped by for a visit'. But who would Russia visit?_

The dildo, he identified with a twinge of annoyance (because either it’s a woman, or they’re doing this just to tease him), pushed in another inch. Then another as it found no resistance. In what seemed like no time at all, it was pushed in far enough that the captor's hands brushed his pubic hair.

America was shaking, feeling feverish and off-balance. He'd been brought to this state before, but it had been a long time. He had forgotten how mind-blowing it all could feel.

"God, please move..." He begged when the captor just left it there in his ass.

His wish was granted immediately, the dildo slowly pushed in and out of his asshole until it picked up speed, and he was thrusting up meet it, cursing aloud in a steady stream. England would have threatened to wash his mouth out with soap (though he would never have gone through with it). And did he really want to be thinking about England right now?

"Ah, ahhh! Hnn...oh my god..." He panted, and wished that instead of his lips now, he had a pillow to bite into.

When he'd first started having sex, he'd been embarrassed about how vocal he was. Then he'd gotten used to it when his lovers said they hadn't minded at all, some had even found it a turn on. But now he felt that embarrassment coming back even when he wanted to come so badly that nothing _else_ mattered, like that he had no idea who was fucking him with a dildo.

Worse, the dildo was amazing but he found himself longing for the feel of a human being. Their hands on his lips, or holding his legs up, or pounding into him relentlessly even as he begged them to slow down because it just felt _too_ good...

"Fuck, _fuck_ -! Please please please..." He begged and begged, tears spilling out of his eyes because it felt so good and he wanted to come so _badly_ , but he couldn’t, he couldn’t-!

The dildo was removed but America couldn’t stop moving his hips.

"Just, just fuck me already! I can't..."

Before he could even finish, his legs were being pushed up as far as they could go with the binds on them, a weight settled between and his legs and finally he was being penetrated by his captor's cock.

"AHH!" Alfred yelled, head thrashing from side to side in ecstasy. The captor knew just where to aim and relentlessly hit the spot over and over again, and now America really felt like he was dying despite being a nation.

"Oh god please let me come!" America desperately pulled on his bindings, needing to get his hands on his cock _now_. One particularly hard yank produced a groaning sound from the bed. He'd bent the middle.

He didn’t even consider if the captor was human or not at this point. They knew too much about him, had prepared too much.

_Who Russia would visit...?_

He felt his captor's hot, panting breath on his stomach as he leaned over to untie the ribbon, and America was practically sobbing now in relief. But still, his captor didn’t touch it, just went back to thrusting hard and deep into him until he swore he saw stars behind his eyelids.

"Yes, yes, _god_!" He shouted uncontrollably, and it trailed off into gibberish that could have been been a mix of all the languages of the world.

He came in an explosion of light so bright that it completely blinded him. He did’t notice, because every nerve ending in his body was on fire and he wanted to cry and cry in relief but instead he passed out.

<hr>

America woke up an insurmountable time later feeling like he did when he was about to eat several hamburgers and ice cream for dessert, and he didn’t have to pay for it.

The smell of fresh sheets wafted into his nose. He'd washed them just a few days ago. He was home.

...Home?

The memories come back to him in a rush, causing him to gasp and clutch at his head.

He'd been _kidnapped_! Him, the Hero! He hurriedly throws back the sheets and goes to stand up...only to fall back onto the bed when his…lower half protests.

"Ugh..." He groaned, and carefully stood up this time. He looked down and saw that he was wearing a plain white top and bottom set from his pajama drawer. He made his way over to his dresser, where his phone sat innocently. He couldn’t recall if he'd had it on him when he'd left.

He opened it and blinked to make sure he'd read it right. He'd left for Canada's on Tuesday morning. It was only 1 P.M. on Wednesday now. He wondered if it had all been some bizarre dream, maybe. He headed to the bathroom and pulled down his shirt collar.

There where he remembered it was a hickey. He growled at his reflection for a moment before something caught his eye. It looked to be a small metal container. There was no writing on it. He cautiously picked it up and opened it. A flowery scent filled his nostrils.

...Ointment?

He narrowed his eyes at it but when it didn’t do anything, he sat it back down on the counter.

Then he stripped out of his pajamas to see the damage. Of which there really actually wasn’t that much. Mostly red marks on his neck and chest from the biting...

The captor must have washed him off, because there were no stains left on his body, and nothing...inside of him.

After taking a thorough shower and putting the ointment on the marks, he got dressed in some comfortable clothes before making his way downstairs. Halfway to the kitchen he smelt coffee. He debated going back up and grabbing a gun. His bravado won over though. If they were still there, America wouldn’t let them get the drop on him this time.

Which reminded him, who _could_ have gotten the drop on him? Not many could best him in a fight, and there had been no scuffle marks as far as he could feel when he'd woken up the first time.

So had he been drugged? But America wouldn’t take a drink from just anyone...

He edged around the corner, and after counting in his head to three, jumped around it and into a fighting pose. No one was there. He blinked and straightened back up.

The coffee maker was set to 'warm'. He moved toward it, but was once more distracted by something that didn’t belong.

There in the middle of the table, sitting pretty as you please, was a flower. It was big, pink and had a yellow middle. As America carefully picked it up, he wracked his brain, trying to remember what it was.

However, as much as he tried, he couldn’t. He sat it back where he'd found it, dumped the (possibly poisoned) coffee and started making plans for revenge.

_He forgot about the question of whom Russia would visit._


End file.
